


The Glade

by wererogue



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wererogue/pseuds/wererogue
Summary: A young girl's family send her on a mission from which they do not expect her to return





	The Glade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eastling (Annwyd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annwyd/gifts).



As the rain dwindled from a pattering to a drizzling, someone with keen eyesight could have begun to make out figures swaying and twirling beyond the rows on rows of leafy plants, out by the tree line. They were by the western barn, and if the watcher were close enough, or at least far enough from the roar of the harvester’s engine, they would hear a jaunty, reedy piping, a delightful and joyful tune to accompany the giddy flow of the dancers.

If someone were to creep closer still, emaciated beans dangling to each side like cheap earrings, they might have remarked upon the ornate robes of the dancers - most a dark grey, with brilliant golden embroidery which caught the light of the evening sun most gloriously as the robes flowed in and out with each whirl of the dancer within. But, most likely, they would only afterwards have noticed a small girl in the center of the dance, wearing blue overalls and a pink t-shirt.

They’d have seen her laughing, caught up in the excitement of the twirling and the golden flashes. Smiling at the beautiful dance that her brothers and sisters were doing, just for her. Sighing contentedly as the music came to an end.

Frowning, as the dancers formed a circle around her, and she remembered that she was scared.

Of course, nobody was watching. Out here, so far from the cities choking with soot and gases, there were no nosy neighbors to creep around those soy plants. Only the birds and beasts of the forest would be watching, and even they were oddly quiet as a tall figure, with their golden robes embroidered in black, entered the circle. A strong, clear voice rang out:

“My most troublesome child, today you are my most favoured. In the name of the folk of these parts, as written in the books of our ancestors, you go to seek their favour, and bring their blessings upon us once more.

“Remember well that which we’ve taught you: first, stay on the path. Second, open the door. Third, make the offering, and fourth, eat of the fruit. And whatever you do…”

“I know, Father”. The girl rolled her eyes and hopped to her feet, snatching the loaf from his hands. She began jogging towards the forest, tucking the bread into her satchel as she ran. “I know it all. You’ll see!”

The man smiled to himself. “She thinks she knows, as always.” As the sun’s light began to fail the dancers nodded to each other and, pushing aside their cowls, smiled cruel smiles. They murmured myriad reassurances: “She’s an impulsive one you see—always was”. “It’s better this way.” “They’ll give us their favour now, for sure.” “The rains will come, and the beans will grow fat.”

If something had followed that girl into the woods, it would have seen her taking great pains to stay on the path. It would have seen her watching a crow call carrion on an injured deer, and heard in response the call of some wolf or coyote. It would have seen her cross a stone bridge over a stream as dark as the sky above, and full of glinting ripples every bit as starry. And it would have seen her make her way to a great bush so brambled that it was nearly a hedge.

If something had been there, it would have seen her take a wooden key from her satchel, and it would have seen the bramble fall back so that she could step _through_ the bush and pass beyond.

But of course nothing had followed her - the scavengers had their meal, and her family were much too afraid of the folk to have entered the woods tonight.

She stepped out into a bright glade, bordered with lilies and lit by moonbeams peeking through the branches interweaving overhead. She gasped, overcome by the beauty of the place. As she stepped forward great flower-heads grew bulging around her feet and burst open, fireflies streaming from their petals and settling gently on the branches above.

In the center of the clearing stood a hollowed tree, flowers and vines growing all about. In front of it rose a dais of smooth stone, clearly carved by human hand, with intricate channels in interweaving designs on the surface.

The girl pulled from her sack a jar of milk, and the fancy loaf. She broke the bread and placed both halves on the dais, then poured the milk over both, letting it run into the channels.

From inside the trunk came a high-pitched buzzing and a soft light, and then a spark shot out of the hollow opening and whizzed in circles overhead. It descended slowly onto the dais, and the air began to fill with chomping and slurping.

Curious, the girl crept closer until her nose was barely touching the dais, and she could see clearly a tiny woman, dressed in the greatest finery but eating with the greatest gusto. In moment the bread was gone, and with her hands the lady scooped up a long drink of milk.

Well-sated, the tiny, regal figure turned to the girl and gave a deep curtsey, then beckoned to an overhead vine. It began to grow, snaking down level with her and a bulbous, plump fruit grow rapidly at the tip, sweet-smelling juice leaking from the stem and dripping to the floor below. The scent was intoxicating - she’d never smelt anything so delicious in her life. The tiny imp grabbed it with both hands and wrenched it from its vine. Laboriously she hefted her offering, then presented it triumphantly to the child.

Delighted, the girl reached up. As she stretched out her arm, the fairy licked milk-smeared lips and pointed teeth, and an excited rumbling began to rise from the tree-trunk.  
The girl’s hand drifted past the fruit and plucked the encumbered fairy out of the air, grasping her tightly in chubby fingers.

She chuckled to herself. “She’s a clever one, you see—always was” she muttered, and popped the affronted pixie straight into the milk jar. She up-ended her satchel and dumped out a boning knife, a leatherbound book and a charred stick at her feet. With the knife she quickly perforated the lid of the jar. The book she flipped open and perused briefly, then taking the stick she began to etch angular sigils and sweeping curves into the soft earth. She spoke aloud calling upon “the dealer”, upon “der Händler”, upon “alfannan”. She made the promises that one only makes when one believes that one’s fate cannot be worse than it already is.

For a moment nothing happened. But all of a sudden things had been different; now there _had_ been someone watching at the dance. She’d been heard, and someone had come to have been there now, where they hadn’t been before. They had seen her go into the woods and they had sent something to watch her, and it had followed her to the glade and, as she turned, trembling, it stood behind her.

A creature black as the forest night, skin scarred with starry marks. It walked on four legs, or maybe two, or three, or many - they moved in unusual ways, making them hard to count. Its tail coiled like a streak of oil on boiling water, and it peeled back a series of jaws and reached out a barbed tongue toward her.

She snatched up her jar and after wrenching off the lid, thrust it in front of her. The tongue writhed into the jar’s wide neck and scooped out the shrieking contents, then whipped back into the same dark edifice from which it had emerged, emitting a heartfelt wail as it went. There were faint sounds of tiny snaps and then the jaws cascaded back into place, and all was silent once more.

The girl reached out a hand to the creature’s leathery neck and it shuddered with pleasure. From deep inside its maw there came a piercing, keening shriek and, far away in their warm beds, her brothers and sisters stirred uneasily in their slumber, dreaming of a stark, empty city, under a starry sky. And in his great chair in the drawing room, her Father shivered violently and, not understanding why, reached out his tongs to heave another log onto the fire.

She looked deep into the face of her new companion, and it looked eyelessly into hers, and together they turned towards home.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story was "A more whimsical and positive take on all these eldrich abominations." I tried a few approaches but in the end I didn't want to undercut the horror or danger of Lovecraft's mythos, so I tried to show a situation where abominations could have a positive impact on somebody's life.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, I strongly recommend reading The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor LaValle, which partially rehabilitates one of Lovecraft's most racist stories. It takes a similar approach of telling the story of somebody drawn into the dark forces of the mythos, and was a big inspiration for how to approach this story.


End file.
